Black Suits and Red Stains
by PandaInTheStars
Summary: AU. The Doctor's secret is revealed - or is it? There is a sudden outbreak of disappearances in London and a new concert is in town. And a figure emerges from the Doctor's past... Sequel to "Blood and Tea"
1. Prologue

Prologue

* * *

_The night was cool and dark. The moon hid behind a bank of clouds, so the only light that illuminated the small London alleyway was a flickering streetlamp._

_The girl walked cautiously, her flat shoes making little noise on the wet asphalt. She pushed her glasses up her nose and then hugged herself. She wasn't usually out this late. She didn't usually take this way home. She sniffed and kept her eyes on the ground in front of her._

_It was then that she heard the footsteps._

'_It's a night watchman,' she thought to herself, but she increased her pace._

_The footsteps got faster too._

_Her heart thudded against her chest. 'It's just a night watchman. He'll go away,' she thought frantically. But she started running._

_Her follower started running as well. The footsteps were louder now and closer._

_She was almost home. Almost to safety. Her mouth opened, ready to scream for help, but she never got the chance. A hand grabbed her shirt from behind and another clamped over her mouth._

_Wheezing, she looked up through her cracked glasses into the obscured face of a man._

_He took his gloved hand away from her mouth and smiled._

_The last sound she ever made was a scream._


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The story came out gradually, in between confessions to the Brigadier and the natural inferences that came out of office gossip.

It had happened a few weeks after his attack. The Doctor, unaware of any changes within him, continued his life in blissful ignorance.

Then one cold, September night, the madness struck.

It was here that the stories differed and in turn multiplied exponentially.

He sucked out all her blood.

He broke her neck.

The most grizzly of the stories involved him tearing out her throat.

The case files surrounding Ann Lambert's death were naturally dug up and poured over. She had been young, 21 at most. She had been a student at Cambridge. A few weeks before finals she went missing. Her body was never found.

The rumor mill was not kind to the Doctor, especially on this front. What had he done with her body? The Doctor's denial of having anything to do with the disappearance of her body did little to stop the stories from growing and spreading.

So he confined himself to his lab and talked with anyone who was willing to talk to him, which was very little. Life continued in the strange, methodical way that it does.

Over a year after Ann Lambert's death, Lucy Miller disappeared from the streets of London.

Her body was never found.

* * *

And we're back! Sorry about all these short chapters - the really meaty ones are coming soon! :)


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Doctor lay underneath his beloved car, fixing her damaged exhaust pipe. As he worked he alternately sang, hummed, or whistled whatever tune that came into his head. If there was one thing in life that was certain, he reasoned, it was that the future was always unclear.

He had hardly seen anyone since he had revealed his secret to the Brigadier. People avoided his lab like the plague, and who could blame them? He knew for a fact that the UNIT officials were currently in turmoil over what to do with him. Most of the blame was placed on the Brigadier's shoulders, being the one who had taken the Doctor under UNIT's proverbial wing in the first place.

He had seen Jo a couple times. She always smiled shyly (fearfully?), seemingly unsure of what to believe. Her own experience had taught her how dangerous the Doctor could be – but it had also taught her that he was a warm and decent man at heart, who had, after all, saved her life.

The Doctor sighed and rolled himself out from beneath the car. He stood up and wiped his oil stained hands on a rag. He felt strangely at peace. His future and perhaps even his life were at stake, but at least his secrets were no longer weighing heavily on his chest.

He sat down at the garage's worktable and picked up the newspaper that lay among the various tools. He had been almost cut off from the outside world during his practically self-made exile and was eager to learn what was currently happening.

The Doctor took only a cursory glance over the political section. (He had never been one for authority, let alone those scheming businessmen that masqueraded as politicians.) He continued quickly to the science and technology section, where he poured over the latest advancements and discoveries. As he read, a page of the newspaper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. Grumbling, he reached down to pick it up.

His hand froze. His eyes widened.

He snatched the newspaper from the floor and dashed from the room.

* * *

The Brigadier sat in his office, his head held in one hand. With the other, he filled out form after form in a seemingly endless stack of papers.

He was a troubled man, to say the least. Somewhere in this very building there was a living, breathing murderer on the loose. Of course, the man in question had had no control over his actions at the time and was really a great asset to UNIT's cause. This was little excuse, however, in the eyes of UNIT's board of directors.

Adding to his worries was the pressure being put on UNIT by MI6 to help with the investigation into the recent rash of disappearances in London. This wasn't exactly under UNIT's jurisdiction but with MI6's personnel being stretched rather thin and the secret service's pull in the government (especially where it came to UNIT's funding), UNIT felt an obligation to lend a hand.

Just then the door to the Brigadier's office slammed open and the Doctor entered, brandishing a newspaper page as if it were the Magna Carta.

"Brigadier!" he addressed curtly as he whacked the newspaper onto the Brigadier's desk (disturbing several stacks of paper). "Look at this!"

The Brigadier closed his eyes and attempted to get his blood pressure back to normal. He opened them again and dropped his gaze down to the newspaper. "This is the society column, Doctor," he said, wearily.

"I know that. Look at the picture!" the Doctor said, pointing to a picture of a young woman singing into a microphone.

"'Lacey Alexander to perform live in London on March 17th,'" the Brigadier read in a monotone voice. "Doctor, I fail to see—"

"Don't you understand? It's her! She's _alive!_" the Doctor exclaimed, his face alight with happiness and relief.

The Brigadier's forehead pinched together. He picked up the newspaper by its edges and looked carefully at the picture. "Do you mean to say she's—?"

"Yes! It's her!"

"Doctor, you said yourself that—"

"I'm positive, Brigadier. You must believe me. Her face… this isn't the sort of thing you forget." He leaned on the desk, his expression deadly serious.

"Doctor," the Brigadier said, laying the newspaper down. "A couple weeks ago you told me you killed this… this… Ann Lambert. Which," he sighed, looking at the mountains of paperwork. "Has caused me a _great _deal of trouble. And now you're telling me she's _alive?_"

The Doctor picked up the paper and looked at it. "The resemblance is… uncanny. Brigadier, if she is alive… I must know. You have no idea—"

"I'm a military man," the Brigadier interjected, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Believe me, I understand the guilt of killing another man." The Doctor looked at him, blinking. "So…" the Brigadier continued. "What do you want me to do?"

The Doctor sniffed and folded the newspaper. "I want you to finance a trip to London for Jo and I – help me get in contact with Ms. Alexander, etc."

The Brigadier nodded. "You've picked a rather opportune moment to ask me that, Doctor. I've actually been planning an excursion to town myself. I'm sure you've heard of the recent disappearances?"

The Doctor's eyes sparked. "No. I haven't."

"Young men and women mostly. Eleven have vanished in the past four weeks, all from vaguely the same area."

"Fascinating," the Doctor said. "So do you suggest we ride tandem?"

"I do. Will you do the honor of informing Ms. Grant?"

"Of course," said the Doctor, genuinely smiling for the first time in weeks. He made a mock-salute with the newspaper before leaving the room.

The Brigadier stared at the closed door of his office for a few seconds before returning to his paperwork, chuckling.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Mobile UNIT HQ had been set up in a small set of offices just north of Canary Wharf. As the Doctor, Jo, and the Brigadier entered the operation, they found Captain Yates pouring over a map of the London area. Several other lower ranking officers were dispersed around the room, digging through paperwork or making telephone calls.

"Capt. Yates has been taking care of the operation in lieu of my arrival," the Brigadier said by way of explanation.

The Doctor and Jo nodded thoughtfully as they observed the area. Capt. Yates turned around and gave the Brigadier a smart salute. "Sir," he addressed. "Scotland Yard has released the exact names and addresses of the missing."

"Excellent," the Brigadier said, tapping his swagger stick lightly against his left palm. He strode across the room and looked intently at the map. "I assume you've plotted them."

"Yes, sir," Yates said, pointing at the pins stuck in the map. "The red pins show those who disappeared four weeks ago, the blue three weeks, etc."

The Doctor looked at the map. "The addresses themselves are arranged in a kind of circle," he observed. "But the times seem almost… methodically random."

"As if someone were trying to make it seem as if there wasn't a pattern," Jo agreed.

"Well, they're doing a poor job of it," the Brigadier said. He pointed to the middle of the circle formed by pins. "What is there, exactly, Yates?"

"Some sort of concert, sir. I've ringed them up and told them about the possible danger but they seem quite intent on getting on with the show."

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up. "A concert? This wouldn't happen to be the Lacey Alexander concert, would it?"

Capt. Yates looked at the Doctor, surprised. "Yes, it is. How did you know?"

The Doctor didn't reply, but he locked eyes with the Brigadier. "It seems our quests are not so separate after all."

"So it seems," the Brigadier said. He turned to Yates. "Yates, organize an immediate investigation of this concert. In the meantime, Doctor, I've made an appointment for yourself and Ms. Grant to meet with Ms. Alexander's manager. You should probably leave now if you don't want to be late."

"Her manager?" the Doctor huffed. "You couldn't make some sort of arrangement with the woman herself?"

"Doctor, it was extremely difficult to get this meeting by itself –"

"Well surely you could have pulled a little more weight than that. I mean really –"

"Come on, Doctor," Jo said calmingly, pulling at his frilled sleeve. The Doctor took a deep breath as if he was ready to say something else, but he let the air puff out.

"Right," he sniffed. "Come along, Jo. We don't want to be late. Goodbye, Brigadier."

"Goodbye, Doctor."

But the Doctor and Jo were already gone.

* * *

Jo felt a bit like an alien from another planet, what with everyone staring at her. Well, they weren't staring at her exactly, but at the Doctor's car. Even the Doctor conceded that Bessie stuck out a _little _in the middle of London rush hour – rush hour that was going so slowly that everyone who looked could get an eyeful of the bright yellow roadster.

Eager to ignore the stares, Jo turned to the Doctor. She had hardly talked to him in the past several weeks and she freely admitted that a part of her hadn't wanted to. The stories she had heard around the office were enough to make her hair stand on end.

But looking at the man now she felt a certain sense of relief. He was so full of hope – he seemed like a new man with the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. She only hoped…

"Doctor," she said, quietly.

"Yes?"

"You are… absolutely certain that this girl we're going to see –"

"We're not going to see her. We're going to see her 'manager.'"

"Yes, well, you are certain she is… the girl you're looking for?"

"Of course I am," he said firmly, his eyes fixed on the road. But as she watched him she could see his countenance waver.

"Right, of course," she said, looking at her hands. "Well, I'm sure we'll see her very soon!" she said more brightly. And before the Doctor could interrupt her, she held her hand out and pointed. "Look! We're here!"

Indeed, they had arrived at the concert grounds. It had clearly been a park, but what little grass that had been there had been quickly trodden down by a hundred stagehands. At the far end of the park there was a large black stage. Even from the road, the Doctor and Jo could see a group of people in windbreakers attempting to lift one of the large floodlights onto the slippery surface of the stage floor.

In front of the stage a field had been cleared for the large crowd that was expected to arrive on show day. To the left of this field a few temporary offices had been set up for the production team in charge of the concert.

The Doctor quickly parked Bessie in a nearby carpark. After disembarking, he and Jo walked briskly across the street and onto the concert grounds.

"He'll probably be in one of those," the Doctor said, pointing to the cluster of offices. Just then, a young stagehand popped up in front of them, blocking their path.

"Excuse me," he said testily. "You're now allowed to be here." He clutched his clipboard and looked at them through beady eyes.

"We have an appointment," Jo said helpfully. "We're here to meet Ms. Alexander's manager."

The stagehand consulted his clipboard and frowned. "Dr. John Smith and Ms. Josephine Grant, I presume?" They nodded. "Well," he said, eyes flicking back and forth. "His office is the leftmost one. But please keep in mind that Mr. Magister is a very busy man."

"Magister?" the Doctor asked, his eyes wide with recognition. But the stagehand had already hurried off, clipboard in hand.

"Come on, Doctor!" Jo cried, pulling him toward the offices. The Doctor followed obediently, but his brow was furrowed.

"Magister…" he repeated.

They finally arrived at the office. Several wooden steps led up to a plain white door. On the door a paper sign had been meticulously taped. As the Doctor read it his brow furrowed even further.

Manager/Executive Director

Harold Magister

* * *

A/N: You get bonus points if you know where the name 'Harold Magister' came from.

I will be going away for break and won't be able to update until January. I will, however, keep writing! :) Have a happy holiday and a lovely new year!


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Since the Doctor appeared to be in some sort of temporary catatonic state, Jo took the initiative and knocked on the door. When there was no response, she turned the handle and cautiously entered the room.

The room was small and square. File cabinets stood against the walls and a poster of a young, attractive woman – Ms. Alexander – hung above them. At the back of the room there was a small desk that was cluttered with paper, bits of machinery, and other odds and ends.

Sitting at the desk was a man on the telephone. He had slicked back hair and a salt-and-pepper goatee. His eyes moved like a snake slithering through the sand. He wore a severe black suit and black gloves to match. He had not yet noticed Jo and the Doctor's entrance.

"Mr. Magister?" Jo asked warily, unsure of their welcome.

The man looked up angrily, ready to tell off whoever had entered his office unannounced and interrupted his telephone call, when he caught sight of the Doctor. His mouth opened in an 'o'.

"John?" he said, quietly.

"Harold?" The two men smiled at each other and suddenly the Doctor was striding across the room, arm outstretched. "My dear fellow," he said as he shook Mr. Magister's hand. "How very nice to see you again!"

Mr. Magister released the Doctor's hand. "Same to you," he said, his voice oscillating between, surprise, happiness, and – fear? "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Ten years, at least," the Doctor agreed.

Jo looked between them, her raised finger pointing at nothing in particular. "Wait a minute," she spoke, causing the two men to turn toward her. "You two know each other?"

The Doctor smiled. "Of course!" He draped his arm over Jo's shoulder and brought her in front of the desk. "Jo, I'd like to introduce you to Harold Magister. Harold, this is my assistant, Ms. Josephine Grant."

Jo took Mr. Magister's hand and shook it. Belatedly, she realized his hand was unnaturally cold and clammy. Shaking it off, she said "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Ms. Grant. Likewise."

The Doctor pulled two chairs from the corner of the room and placed them in front of the desk. As he flicked his frock coat behind him in preparation of sitting down, he began to speak.

"Harold and I went to school together."

"Well," clarified Mr. Magister, smiling thinly. "I can't speak to the actual amount of education we received those years we were together."

The Doctor laughed, loud and clear. Jo only looked confused.

"Harold and I were always getting into some form of trouble or other," the Doctor explained. He turned to Mr. Magister. "You were always the master of our nefarious schemes."

"And you were always the doctor, chatting up the teachers and cleaning up my messes." Mr. Magister placed his elbows on the desk and took a short breath. "It has been a pleasure having this little reunion, John, but I do have to keep to a strict schedule. Perhaps we could get to the point of this meeting?"

"Of course." The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. "You see, I would quite like to meet your star performer – Lacey Alexander, I believe her name is?"

Mr. Magister wrinkled his brow. "If you don't mind me asking, why do you want to see her? I didn't think it was UNIT's responsibility to inspect every up-and-coming popular icon," he said with a slight chuckle.

"We're not really here, on, well, UNIT business," Jo said as helpfully as she could. She suddenly realized that neither she nor the Doctor had formulated any sort of plan to get Mr. Magister to let them talk to Ms. Alexander. "It's more like, um…" She looked at the Doctor for support and found none. "It's…. personal business."

"Personal business?" Mr. Magister questioned, eyebrow raised. He looked at the Doctor. "Do you know Ms. Alexander?"

The Doctor looked distinctly uncomfortable - he, too, had not thought about this. Jo watched memories flick past his eyes. "No… yes… It's a very long story." He suddenly got up from his chair and looked at his left wrist, despite the fact that he wasn't wearing a watch. "We really should be going, Jo, don't you think? The Brigadier will be missing us."

Jo was flabbergasted. "But Doctor, we just got here and surely you want to –"

But the Doctor was already halfway out the door. "It's been a pleasure seeing you again, Harold. Come along Jo, we must go." And he left.

Jo looked between the swinging door and the bemused face of Mr. Magister for a few moments, hands on her hips. Then, sighing, she bid Mr. Magister good day, and then took her leave.

* * *

A little while after Jo and the Doctor had left, another man entered Mr. Magister's office, his face red with anger. Mr. Magister purposefully ignored the man, instead inspecting some old paperwork. The man huffed and slammed his hand on the desk. The whole office shook with the impact.

Mr. Magister slowly – languidly – raised his head, finally looking the man in the eyes. "Yes, Mr. Collins, what is it?"

Mr. Collins practically shook with rage. He sputtered for a few seconds before finally coming out with "You know perfectly well what's wrong, Magister. I could handle the lack of stage direction. I could even stomach the lack of scenery and choreography – mostly. I know our budget is tight. But this…" He held his head high and snorted. "This is going too far."

Mr. Magister casually leaned back in his chair. "I'd be pleased if you told me exactly what was troubling you so."

"The machinery, Magister. The machinery. This show is going to be poor enough as it is without you wasting our funds on unnecessary technology." He sniffed. "I am the producer. I have the right to know these things." He suddenly smiled. "You probably need a permit for the gizmos and whatsits you've got behind that stage. I don't know how you made me agree to those other compromises, but you won't shake me this time. I will report this."

Mr. Magister slowly got up, his relaxed expression unchanging. "Now, come, come Barry. Surely we can work this out peaceably."

"I'm sure we could, if you would only stop being so damn controlling!"

Magister smiled. "Well, things do seem to go well when people _listen _to me." He stared straight into Mr. Collins' eyes.

Mr. Collins faltered. His pupils dilated. "Magister…" he said.

Mr. Magister leaned forward on the desk and looked at Mr. Collins' almost pained expression. Mr. Collins wobbled a little and took a step back.

Mr. Magister's smile suddenly dropped.

"You'll listen to me, Collins, won't you? After all, I am the Master! And you. will. obey. me."


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Jo caught up with the Doctor as he was striding out of the park. She jogged up to him and huffed loudly. She then gave him her best, patented Jo Grant glare. He ignored her. Seeing her silent protestations were getting her nowhere, she opened her mouth.

"You didn't have to just leave like that."

The Doctor looked at her briefly, eyebrow raised. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair as they stopped at the crosswalk.

Not seeing this as a legitimate answer, Jo continued.

"I mean, we come all this way to find out whether the girl you thought was dead is, in fact, not dead and you run away from our first lead!" She emphasized her point by waving her arms in the air.

The Doctor looked straight ahead as they crossed the road.

"Twelve years," he said.

Jo blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"It's been twelve years since I last saw Magister."

Jo looked into the wind and her hair blew around her like a fluid halo. She brushed a strand behind her ear. "Oh, I see. Doctor—"

"Memories are very important, Jo," the Doctor said, his own white hair shuffling in the sudden gust of wind. "Sometimes, they're all you have of someone."

"I understand that your meeting up with him was very nice, but—"

"I want people to remember me well, Jo."

Jo paused and looked at the Doctor. He stood in the wind, his ruffles fluttering in time to the branches on the trees. She suddenly realized how _old _he looked. He was so active and flamboyant that it was easy to miss, but the wrinkles in his face and the shadows in his eyes belied the fact. Jo doubted that in all her life she would see what he had.

"Come on, Jo. You'll get run over if you stand in the middle of the road like that."

Jo pursed her lips and followed him. They made their way to the public carpark and soon found Bessie amongst the other cars (the yellow roadster was never particularly difficult to spot). As they clambered into the vehicle, Jo struck up the conversation again.

"You could have made something up, you know. You didn't have to tell him your life story when he asked you why you wanted to see Ms. Alexander."

The Doctor smiled sadly and rested his elbow on the door of the car. "I suppose it was a bit irrational of me."

Jo smiled impishly. "Yes, it was." She lowered her head. "But I do understand."

The Doctor looked at Jo and his face finally broke into a grin.

"Let's go see what the Brigadier is up to, shall we?"

* * *

The sun was waning in the sky as Jo and the Doctor drove back to mobile UNIT HQ. The traffic was just as bad, perhaps even worse. As they approached the river Thames, the pace seemed to slow to a crawl.

"Who's that over there?" asked Jo, pointing to a man in the middle of the street. The man was furiously directing irate commuters away from Blackfriars Bridge.

"It looks like one of the UNIT soldiers," the Doctor said. Curious, he pulled over to the side of the road and parked. He and Jo quickly hopped out and approached the soldier.

It was Private Hawkings. He paused in his duties to reprimand the man in fancy dress for interrupting his work when he recognized the Doctor and Jo. He quickly snapped his mouth shut and saluted smartly.

"Sir," he said, unnecessarily. A car horn honked.

"Hello, Harry," said Jo, brightly.

Hawkings smiled a little and tipped his cap. "Afternoon, miss." Another horn blared obnoxiously, making the man jump. "Beggin' your pardon sir, but I need to get back to my work. The Brigadier's underneath the bridge. He's been looking for you everywhere. He telephoned the concert grounds and they said you weren't there."

"What is the Brigadier doing underneath the bridge?" asked Jo.

Hawkings leaned in conspiratorially, despite the fact that no one around them could possibly hear. "They've found one of the missing persons," he said in a harsh whisper.

"Dead?" asked the Doctor, copying the private's secretive air.

"Yeah." Several car horns screamed in quick succession. Hawkings looked around frantically. "Look, I've got to get back," he said. "They'll run me over if I don't. The Brigadier will explain everything. Goodbye, miss." He gave Jo one last, lingering smile before dashing back to the enraged drivers.

The Doctor and Jo looked at each other.

"So this is a murder case," the Doctor said, pulling at his frilled cuffs.

"We'd better find the Brigadier."

The Doctor nodded and they soon were making their way toward the bridge. They ran into a few lower ranking UNIT soldiers who, after confirming their passes, escorted them over the roadside and onto the sharp, littered bank that served as the beach of the river. In the distance, a large group of UNIT personnel crowded beneath the base of the bridge. As they got closer, it became clear what the men were surrounding.

"Oh, Doctor!" Jo cried suddenly. She pulled back a little, one hand clinging to the Doctor's sleeve.

The Doctor looked down Jo's line of sight, blinking. And then he saw it. The body. It lay amongst the sand and rocks, surrounded by UNIT soldiers and forensic investigators. It was a young woman. Her blouse was torn and one of her shoes was missing and her once prettyish face was now bloated after spending so much time in the water. Her frozen eyes stared unseeingly at the evening sky.

"Stay here, Jo," the Doctor said gently, tapping her comfortingly on the shoulder. He made his way down the bank, his shoes crunching in the gravel-like sand. He approached the Brigadier, who was talking with the one of the investigators.

"Hello Doctor," the Brigadier said with a sigh upon noticing the Doctor approach. "Good to have you back."

The Doctor looked at the body. "Have you identified her?"

"Not officially, no. But judging from the descriptions provided by the missing persons' families I would say she is one Amelia Anderson."

The Doctor pursed his lips. "Cause of death?"

"Blood loss. She was dumped in the river post-mortem."

The Doctor approached the body and knelt down. "I don't see any wounds large enough for that sort of death."

"Hicks!" the Brigadier called, bringing one of the forensic people trotting over. "Show the Doctor the woman's neck."

The man obediently knelt down and carefully tilted the woman's head so that the left side of her neck was clearly visible. Two small puncture marks, several centimeters apart could clearly be seen through the thin layer of mud. The Doctor stood up, breathing in sharply. He looked at the Brigadier, who stared back at him with a hard expression.

"Well don't look at me like that, Brigadier," the Doctor said defensively. "You've had me under lock and key for the past three weeks at least. This girl has only been dead for two or three days."

"I'm not accusing you, Doctor. But you are UNIT's scientific advisor. I merely require your professional opinion."

The Doctor huffed indignantly. "I think you know perfectly well what's happened here. This girl - all these people that have gone missing (at regular intervals, no less) - it's obvious. I'm not alone, am I? There's another vampire loose on the streets of London."


End file.
